oh, God bless the boy
who was born from
blue cigar smoke, and bled
filthy water from arteries
that never made it back to his liquid heart.
please, angels, save the boy
from the stones tied to his frozen feet
when he thought he could walk on water,
and the pearly-eyed sirens singing
with empty promises woven into the harmonies.
pray, heaven, keep the boy
keep him locked up
and rattling the golden gates,
take him by the weary wrist
and shackle him,
keep him loyal
with gifts of ambrosia and wine
and he will build his own altar.
here, people, worship the boy
where he offers a bleeding eucharist,
there is dirt beneath his thumbnail
as he smears the line between
sin and sacrament.
tell them this is your scripture now.
and you-- you, forsake the boy,
climb the ridges of his crooked spine
and do not look down,
where cast from shining heaven
he raises his ****** palms;
this is the rotting skeleton
of the tower he built to the sky.
God, bless the boy, the water is boiling,
and even the sirens fear him now.